


Bright

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Eyeshield 21
Genre: Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Inline with canon, Late Night Conversations, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-04
Updated: 2014-09-04
Packaged: 2018-02-16 01:42:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2251236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Mizumachi is balanced improbably on the narrow edge at the top of the fence, and for just a moment, looking up at the silhouette of the other boy high above him, Kakei’s rational panic went silent." A continuation of Kakei and Mizumachi's late-night rooftop conversation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bright

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Claws](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Claws/gifts).



Kakei can’t remember how to breathe.

It was panic, to start, a brief surge of unadulterated horror as Mizumachi leapt in his periphery, the same instinctive adrenaline that hits when watching a cup fall off the edge of a table. But then the motion had stopped, Mizumachi balanced improbably on the narrow edge at the top of the fence, and for just a moment, looking up at the silhouette of the other boy high above him, Kakei’s rational panic went silent. The breathless shock that hit him then was of a different sort, reverent and wide-eyed; concerns of safety evaporated into insane faith, illogical and unavoidable.

In that moment, he wouldn’t have been surprised to see Mizumachi fly.

The other boy had turned smoothly after a moment, smiling down at Kakei with his usual foolish cheer, unaware that his position transformed the expression into a benediction. Then he jumped down, a smooth arc back to solid ground, and Kakei’s heartbeat stuttered up into overdrive, delayed reaction now that the danger had passed.

“What were you  _doing_?” he demands, surging forward to grab desperately at Mizumachi’s arm as if to hold him in place, keep him on the ground and out of range of further insane stunts. “You could have  _fallen_.”

Mizumachi laughs, bright and sparkling like the stars overhead even before he looks back up at the top of the fence like he’s thinking of trying it again. Kakei tightens his hold, presses his fingertips in hard against the heat of the other boy’s skin, but it doesn’t offer any comfort, he’s not sure Mizumachi won’t slip this tether as easily as he does that of gravity.

“I didn’t,” he says, as if that resolves all Kakei’s concerns. “I was fine.” His weight comes up, bounces idly on the balls of his feet, and Kakei grabs at his other arm, closes his fingers around Mizumachi’s wrist as a second point of contact. He’s breathing too hard, the air is catching in his throat, and he’s not sure if that tension he can feel choking him is laughter or belated tears of fright. He tips his head, blinks hard at the asymmetrical pattern on Mizumachi’s shirt and waits for confirmation that his eyes aren’t going to overflow.

Mizumachi’s arm shifts, but he’s not pulling away. Fingers curl around Kakei’s elbow, a matching hold locking their arms together so Kakei can feel the slide of Mizumachi’s skin all against his forearm, the dig of the other’s wrist into the soft spot just in front of his elbow. When he looks up the other boy is looking at him instead of the sky, his unfettered smile still clinging unthought to his lips.

“Were you even seeing anything?” Mizumachi asks. He’s not looking away, barely blinking; Kakei can feel his own face warming with self-consciousness under the steadiness of that gaze, but the other boy is oblivious or uncaring or both. Kakei’s not actually sure he knows what it  _is_  to be self-conscious; he’s never seen any evidence of such from Mizumachi, at least.

He has no idea what Mizumachi is talking about, either. “What?”

“The view.” Mizumachi tips his head towards the railing, the light from the buildings below them. “Even through the fence it’s not bad, this high up.”

Kakei looks. His eyes follow the line of Mizumachi’s inclined head, catch on the edge of the railing he was leaning on before, the interruption of the fence -- then his focus shifts, drops the metal pattern out of importance, and the city opens up in front of him, the view he couldn’t see before for the distraction of his own thoughts. It’s lit up like the sky, the heavy shapes of the dark buildings sprinkled with the sparkle of lights inside, and for a breath the visual to enough to drag Kakei’s attention away even from the casual heat of Mizumachi’s skin against his, pull his thoughts sideways from cataloging the press of the blond’s fingertips into his skin.

“ _Oh_.”

“Yeah.” Mizumachi does pull free, then, lets his hold go and twists free as easily as if the other boy doesn’t have a hold on his arm at all. His wrist is moving too, so for a moment Kakei thinks he’s losing the contact entirely, but when he pulls it’s too slow to break away and instead serves as a gentle tug, urging Kakei back around to lean against the railing. When Kakei looks down the air sweeps down the sheer side of the building, hits his breathing with another surge of excitement that he thinks would be vertigo in someone else. For him there’s no dizziness, no nausea and no panic, not with Mizumachi next to him and safe from the fall; there’s just a rush of energy, like his body is proving he’s alive by thudding his heartbeat fast in his ears.

“We’ll go,” Mizumachi says at Kakei’s elbow. His wrist slides away, deliberately slipping from Kakei’s hold, but then his fingers are taking its place, catching and winding in against the other boy’s as easily as he swung himself up onto the fence.

Kakei nods without looking away, raises his chin so his vision sweeps out to the horizon instead of down over that drop. “To the top,” he finishes for the blond, flexing his fingers more to demonstrate that he’s not pulling away than to actually adjust his hold at all. He can see Mizumachi smile in his periphery, can feel the other’s movement as he comes closer. He doesn’t turn in, doesn’t look away from the cityscape even when Mizumachi presses in against his shoulder and huffs a warm breath against his neck. His blink is a little slower than it needs to be, more a flutter of eyelashes as his focus give way to anticipation, but he still doesn’t turn. If anything he angles his head the other direction, turns the motion into a silent offering so Mizumachi can lean in closer and press his lips to Kakei’s night-chill skin.

Kakei does shut his eyes, then. Mizumachi is humming, low under his breath; he always does, that Kakei has found, though he’s not sure the blond knows about his own habit. But it’s easy to tell when Mizumachi’s mouth is against his neck or his wrist or his lips, the constant tickle of vibration like he’s murmuring secrets so softly they can only be felt instead of heard. Kakei’s not really seeing anything anymore, in spite of his open eyes; all his attention is narrowing to the feel of Mizumachi’s mouth catching damp against his throat, the catch of a delighted laugh over the other boy’s tongue. When he tightens his fingers Mizumachi squeezes right back, his grip steady and strong, and when Kakei slides his thumb out to hook around the other’s wrist he can feel Mizumachi smile, a breath of advance warning before fingers reach out to catch and close on the far edge of Kakei’s shirt to pull him around.

It doesn’t take much effort. Kakei’s turning anyway, blinking slow and instinctive so his vision fragments into starlight gold and the flash of Mizumachi’s smile in the moment before they both lean in, reaching for each other with a movement more instinct than anything else. Kakei doesn’t need to see to tip his head to the side, and Mizumachi doesn’t have to slow down before their lips are fitting into place against each other and the electricity is under Kakei’s skin instead of in his vision. There’s a brush of air against Kakei’s hair, the everpresent breeze of high places, and then Mizumachi’s fingers are curling in against the back of his neck, Mizumachi is half-stepping in closer to press in against him, and Kakei forgets where they are for just a moment. He is here, and he has Mizumachi purring against his mouth and tasting his lower lip, and that’s all that is really important for this breath. He inhales the cool of the night air, and Mizumachi laughs into his mouth, and when the blond pulls back so he can shift his head and fit his lips against the flutter of Kakei’s pulse the other boy turns his head up, blinks at the stars and lets his body go warm and shaky under Mizumachi’s touch.

He’s still looking up when the other boy lets his neck go, slides his fingers down across Kakei’s t-shirt to catch at the bottom of the fabric, push it up off the other boy’s hips so he can press his fingers in against Kakei’s skin and catch his little finger under the top of the other boy’s jeans. Kakei can feel the resistance catch under his skin, can feel his spine go stiff with awkward self-consciousness as he glances sideways, out at the lights that look more like an audience with just the addition of Mizumachi’s touch under his waistband.

“Mizumachi,” Kakei says, the words shaking too much to stand as a warning. “We’re in public.”

Mizumachi leans in closer, slides his hand around until his fingers are bracing at the small of Kakei’s back, his pinky still hinting at not-quite-decency. “No one can see us up here,” he points out. Kakei keeps looking out at the city while Mizumachi goes on, his words gusting warm against the other boy’s skin. “You can look down but no one looks up.” His hand dips down a little lower, touches against the line of propriety and skips over it as he catches two fingers together under the elastic of Kakei’s boxers.

“I’m not an exhibitionist like you are,” Kakei protests, but he’s not pushing Mizumachi away. His hand are stalled against the blond’s waist and braced on his shoulder, fingers working idly over the other’s body as he tries to convince himself to move away, to grab at Mizumachi’s wrist and pull his hand away. But he isn’t moving, and then Mizumachi laughs like sunshine against his shoulder and Kakei knows, then, that he’d agree to anything at all.

“I’m not an exhibitionist,” Mizumachi says, but it has the shape of habit instead of real protest, Kakei can hear the smile in the breath against his skin. “So you won’t let me jerk you off at the railing?”

“ _Let_  you,” Kakei repeats back, almost laughing. “You make it sound like I’d be doing you a favor.”

“You would be,” Mizumachi says immediately, without any suggestion of hesitation under the words, and Kakei’s skin flushes hot with pleasure and embarrassment together. “I’ve always wanted to. This is the first time I’ve had the chance.”

“No,” Kakei says reflexively, but he’s still not moving, doesn’t move his hands and doesn’t push Mizumachi away. It takes a moment; the implication is a little too subtle, Kakei can feel Mizumachi huff in resignation and tense in expectation of pulling away. But then the blond goes still, Kakei can almost hear the thoughts in his head catch out-of-rhythm in his breathing, and when he moves it’s to angle his fingers in an inch lower rather than to pull away.

“Please,” he says, humming under the word again, and Kakei takes a breath that sticks in his throat, turns his breathing shaky and anxious.

“No,” he says again, more firmly this time. “We should at least move over next to the door.”

The delight is Mizumachi’s laugh is worth the capitulation, worth the teasing and the panicked adrenaline still thrumming Kakei’s blood into trembling warmth. The touch at Kakei’s hip vanishes, Mizumachi’s fingers close on his wrist instead, and he’s moving away faster than Kakei expects, dragging the other boy in his wake by his hold on his wrist. Kakei stumbles forward, startled into a huffed laugh even before Mizumachi gets his free hand at the bottom of his shirt so he can peel it up and over his head. The fabric catches on his wrist, tangles around their hands, but Mizumachi doesn’t let go until he’s reached the wall. Then he’s grabbing Kakei’s shoulder, letting his hand and the shirt go at once, and Kakei doesn’t have much of an option but to let himself be pushed forward, turned around so his shoulders hit the wall behind him. The light spilling out of the door’s window is to his right; both he and Mizumachi are in the shadows of the night, the darkness turning the shine of Mizumachi’s eyes to echoes of starlight. That catches Kakei’s breath, stops his coherency for a moment, and Mizumachi doesn’t wait. His fingers are pushing at the edge of Kakei’s shirt, he’s leaning in close so his skin catches on Kakei’s as fast as the fabric slides up. Kakei shuts his eyes to the endless sparkle of Mizumachi’s gaze, lets the spreading warmth of the other boy’s hands override his senses until all he is is a canvas for Mizumachi’s touch, a singular reaction to the rush of the blond’s breath over his lips and the drag of his fingers over skin. Mizumachi takes a step, fits his leg in between Kakei’s; Kakei rocks up off the wall, just for more contact, and Mizumachi catches a breath, chokes like all his stamina is failing him, and the rushing awareness of his  _power_  pulls Kakei back from passivity.

His fingers fit in against Mizumachi’s hips, he pulls the blond hard against him, and he can feel the shudder that washes Mizumachi’s body liquid and pliant. His smile comes easy, his mouth fits in against the blond’s bare shoulder, and while Mizumachi is gasping under the contact Kakei is dragging his hand sideways, finding the edge of the blond’s shorts and pushing his fingers past the fabric, curling his fingers in around the other boy’s length.

Mizumachi’s hand pulls away from Kakei’s skin, comes up to land flat on the wall over the other boy’s shoulder. Kakei can see the tension pulling tight under Mizumachi’s skin as he braces himself, but the blond’s face is still relaxed, his smile still as easy and unthought as it always is. Kakei can feel the constant tension of his existence fade off in response to that expression even before Mizumachi leans in to catch his lips on the dip between Kakei’s collarbones and steal all the strength from his legs. Kakei drops back against the wall, tips his head back so he’s looking back up at the sky, and lets his throat purr around an appreciative incoherency as he settles his fingers in place and starts to stroke up over Mizumachi. He can feel the moaning shiver of reaction against his skin before he braces his fingers against the blond’s hip and speeds the movement of his hand. The sound Mizumachi makes is a groan and a whimper and a laugh all together, his mouth is warm and damp, the mark of his lips evaporating into cool with the motion of the wind around them, and Kakei’s thoughts are spiraling free, lifting loose of gravity and floating up and away until all there is is the heat of Mizumachi’s hands on him, Mizumachi’s breath at his shoulder. All his tension is sliding into the blond’s body, winding tighter with anticipation as Kakei strokes a little harder, a little faster, coaxes Mizumachi up to the edge until Kakei thinks he’s holding them both up, that it’s only the hand clinging to his shoulder keeping Mizumachi on his feet. The blond is starting to shake, gasp and shudder out-of-time with Kakei’s strokes, the reaction catching on its own feedback until the conclusion is inevitable, until Kakei thinks he could stop moving entirely and it wouldn’t affect the outcome.

He doesn’t stop. If anything he speeds up, turns his wrist to get a better angle and tightens his hold on Mizumachi’s hip, holds the other boy in place so he can take longer strokes over him, can find and hold a rhythm even as Mizumachi gasps and catches bruising hard at his shoulder.

“I’m --” Mizumachi stutters, pushes his forehead hard against Kakei’s shoulder, and it’s Kakei’s breathing that catches in his throat at the sound, like all the tight-wound almost-there in Mizumachi’s body is bleeding into his directly. He can hear Mizumachi take a breath, deep and bracing and steadying; then Kakei slides his hand down once more, starts to stroke back up, and Mizumachi shudders and groans and comes over the other boy’s fingers.

He’s barely caught his breath -- Kakei can still feel him trembling with the aftershocks -- when he lets the other boy’s shoulder go, reaches down to grab Kakei’s wrist and slide his hand free. Kakei is still blinking at him, trying to recollect his attention to his own body instead of focused on Mizumachi’s, when the blond steps back so he can drop down to his knees.

“Ah,” Kakei manages. Mizumachi’s pushing his shirt back up from where it had fallen during his temporary distraction, dragging the heat of his lips across the skin while he pulls the front of the other boy’s pants open. Kakei reaches out, touches his clean hand against the soft tangle of Mizumachi’s hair and earns himself a humming smile against his skin as the zipper of his pants comes down.

“Look up,” Mizumachi says as he pulls back, tugs Kakei’s clothes down off his hips so they fall around his ankles and the breeze catches chill at Kakei’s skin, makes him shiver until Mizumachi’s fingers close at his hips to offer counteracting warmth. He tips his head back obediently, blinks up at the sky, and he’s just starting to feel the nighttime peace settle into his blood when there’s a rush of heat, warmth and wet and friction, and even  _knowing_  it’s Mizumachi’s mouth isn’t enough to restrain the gasp in his throat or the clutch of his fingers in the other’s hair. Mizumachi hums again, in response or appreciation or both, and Kakei lets his breath go, steadies his shoulders against the wall and loosens his hold and lets the heat ripple out over him from Mizumachi’s mouth. It’s always hard to relax into this; Kakei’s instinct is to reach for the sensation, arch up off the wall to press in deeper for more heat and more speed and  _more_ ,  _faster_. But looking up he can’t see Mizumachi’s movements, there’s just the endless peace of the sky overhead, so even when the other boy’s mouth slides over him Kakei just catches his breath for a moment, when Mizumachi’s tongue drags against him he lets his weight fall more heavily against the wall instead of tensing in against the friction. His vision goes hazy, the stars twinkle bright in his slipping attention; Kakei’s fingers are dropping down, touching against the heat at the back of Mizumachi’s neck instead of resting at the top of his head, and Mizumachi hums again, long and drawn-out like he’s putting sound to his breathing. Kakei can feel his heartbeat thudding hard in his throat, the pulse of his blood washing in waves under his skin, and his breathing is going audible too, turning into almost-moans over the tension in his tipped-back throat. Mizumachi’s fingers dig harder into his hips, pull him farther forward an inch, and Kakei doesn’t fight it, lets the blond drag him where he ought to be, because the sky is starting to drop out of focus and his breathing is catching high in his chest and as long as Mizumachi doesn’t  _stop_  he’ll do anything.

He tries to put a warning to it, tries to form his lips and tongue around the words, but all that he manages is a whining groan, a grab at the other boy’s hair. But Mizumachi makes a sound around him, the appreciation clear even without the words, and when his mouth slides back down Kakei blinks, and lets the darkness in his eyes burst into incoherent white for a moment while heat rushes out into him and sweeps away everything else.

He’s still glazed, warm and heavy with the aftermath of pleasure, when Mizumachi pulls away and gets to his feet. The blond is grinning, his delight so contagious it catches the corners of Kakei’s mouth into a smile before Mizumachi leans in quick, presses his mouth against the other boy’s. Kakei can taste the bitter on the blond’s tongue, can feel the lingering adrenaline shaking in the other’s fingers as they settle briefly against his hips. Then Mizumachi steps back, starts to look for his abandoned shirt, and Kakei catches his breath, steadies his footing, and moves to pull his clothes back into place.

“By the railing,” Kakei offers without looking up. There’s a chirp of appreciation, the sound of Mizumachi jogging across the rooftop, and Kakei can’t repress his smile as he finishes fastening his pants. When he looks up Mizumachi is coming back, using his shirt to wipe his skin dry rather than actually putting it back on.

“You can’t go back down shirtless,” Kakei protests weakly.

Mizumachi looks up and flashes a grin before tossing the shirt to the other boy. “Sure I can,” he declares as Kakei cedes the point in favor of wiping his sticky fingers clean. “No one will care.”

“Everyone cares,” Kakei points out. “They’ve just given up on arguing.”

Mizumachi’s smile lights his whole face up with amusement. “Whatever.” He moves to the door, ducks his head to peer through the window and back down the stairwell to belatedly check for any other visitors. Kakei stays where he is, watches the way the light turns Mizumachi’s night-white hair gold and shining. Mizumachi looks back at him, crosses the distance between them in one long stride, and Kakei doesn’t have time to react before Mizumachi is kissing him again, presses his mouth against the other boy’s for a brief moment of warmth. Kakei’s still trying to blink the stars from his eyes when Mizumachi pulls away, reaches out to circle his fingers around the other boy’s wrist.

“Come on,” he says, and when he pulls Kakei follows, stumbling in the wake of his current. “Let’s go.”

Mizumachi pulls the door open, starts to lead them back down the stairs. His back is to Kakei, there’s no way he can see the words Kakei silently shapes,  _to the top_  like a promise whispered to no one. But his fingers draw tight for a moment, like his body is reacting automatically to the movement of Kakei’s mouth, the imprint of each finger perfect against Kakei’s wrist.

When they get to the ground again, Kakei’s smiling as bright as Mizumachi.


End file.
